The butcher so greasy and fat,
When out he does nothing but boast,
Struts as he cocks on his hat,

As if he supreme ruled the roast.
Talks of his wealth and his riches,
Consequence always does show body;
His ugly old wife wears the breeches,
But I never says nothing to nobody.

The baker lives quite in great style,
His wife is, oh, Lord! such a fright;
New dresses she's got a great pile,
They sleep out of town every night,
Country cottage completely in state,
Determin'd not to be a low body;

He's been pull'd up three times for short weight, But I never says nothing to nobody.

The publican thriving in trade,

With sorrow is now looking down; His sweet little pretty bar-maid,

Has a little one just brought to town. He's not to be seen much about,

His wife is a deuce of a shrew body, The beadles are on the look out,

But I never says nothing to nobody.

A methodist parson of fame,
I see very often go by;

His heart is fill'd full of love's flame,
He visits a girl on the sly;
Although this daily I see,

And surely he's but a so-so body,
Of course, as 'tis nothing to me,
I never says nothing to nobody.

I could tell, if I lik'd, such a ta,
Of neighbours all round great and small;

That surely I think without fail,

Would really astonish ye all.

But here now my short ditty ends,
I don't want to hurt high or low body;
I wish to keep in with my friends,

So I never says nothing to nobody.

THERE WAS A JOLLY MILLER.

THERE was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee, He danc'd and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he,

And this the burden of his song for ever us'd to be, "I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me.'

I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife,

I would not change my station for any other in life: No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor, e'er had a groat from

me,

I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me.

When spring begins his merry career, oh! how his heart grows gay,

No summer's drought alarms his fears, nor winter's cold decay;

No foresight mars the miller's joy, who's wont to sing and say,

"Let others toil from year to year, I live from day to day."

Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing,

The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on

the wing;

This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial

ring,

Let heart and voice, and all agree, to say "Long live

the king."

RULE BRITANNIA.

'WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian-angels sung this strain;
Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves:
Britons never will be slaves.

The nations, not so blest as thee,
Must in their turn, to tyrants fall;

Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free,
The dread and envy of them all:

Rule Britannia, &c.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke,
As the loud blasts that tear the skies,
Serve but to root thy native oak:

Rule Britannia, &c.

The haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy gen'rous flame,
And work their woe-but thy renown:

Rule Britannia, &c.

To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore encircle thine:

Rule Britannia, &c.

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;

Blest Isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.

Rule Britannia, &c.

THE FOUR AND NINEPENNY HAT.

ECONOMY is now the rage,

It's strange, so each confesses,
To notice in this wond'rous age,
How cheapness it progresses!
But of all the wonders of the day,
That queer each sage and flat, sirs,
The one that bears the greatest sway,

Is the four and ninepenny hat, sirs.
Oh! the hat, sirs, the dandy hat, sirs,
The four and ninepenny hat, sirs.

Not long ago-I won't enlarge-
No matter man or master,
A guinea was the lowest charge
For a swellish-looking castor;
For eighteen bob you'll now get four,
And you may cut it fat, sirs,
And always look a swell, I'm sure,
In a four and ninepenny hat, sirs!

Oh! the hat, &c.

The hatters vow they never felt

Such shocking times-that's poz, sirs; A heart of flint it sure would melt,

For each one wears a goss, sirs.

Beavers soon will not be worth

Much more than a tom cat, sirs,

For ev'ry man upon the earth

Sports a four and ninepenny hat, sirs.

Oh! the hat, &c.

The shopboy or the lawyer's clerk,
On Sunday pass a gay day;

They strut so proudly in the Park!
Upon their arm a lady!

Their hair is frizz'd, they're quite in luck,
Each grace they have quite pat, sirs,
And just upon two hairs is stuck,

A four and ninepenny hat, sirs!

Oh! the hat, &c.

The dustman, who was fashion's dunce,
And after pride no griever,
The height of his ambition once
Was to sport his fantail beaver!
The castor he's cast off-'tis well,
In fashion he's quite pat, sir,
And now the dustman bears the bell,
In a four and ninepenny hat, sirs!

Oh! the hat, &c.

So thus you see, the rage is such,
No man will wear a skimmer;
The scavenger no tile will touch,
But a fancy silk broad brimmer!
So if you keep in fashion's pale,
And really cut a shine, sirs,
To buy, I'm sure you will not fail,
A slap-up four and nine, sirs.

Oh! the hat, &c.

SHE NEVER BLAM'D HIM, NEVER!

SHE never blam'd him, never;

But received him when he came,

With a welcome kind as ever,
And she tried to look the same-

But vainly she dissembled,

For whene'er she tried to smile,

A tear unbidden trembled
In her blue eye all the while.